


After you, Alice.

by Pandigital



Series: 100 ways to say I love you. [41]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6202900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandigital/pseuds/Pandigital
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik didn't remember why he was here, but he does remember that Kadar had been with him before he was found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After you, Alice.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cards_Slash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/gifts).



If he moved his head all the way up against the wall and tilted it to the left he could just see the edge of the moon through the bars. Just a sliver sliver almost close enough to eat. A sliver of cheese, a sliver of cake, a cup of tea to be polite. Someone had given him a cup of tea once, someone with blue-green eyes and long ears. Funny how he couldn’t remember his face though. All that part was hazy, his memory of him wrapped in smoke but for the eyes and ears. And the ears had been long and furry. 

When they found him all he would say was, “The Rabbit. The Rabbit. The Rabbit.” Over and over. When he acted like they said he was mad. Malik knew he wasn’t mad. Maybe. 

Not deep down. But the powders they gave him made the world all muzzy and sideways and sometimes he felt mad. Everything had happened just as he said, when he could say something besides “Rabbit.” He and Kadra went into the Old City for Kadar’s birthday. Sixteen birthday. Sixteen candles on your cake, a sliver of cake and a cup of tea for you, my dear. They had both went in, but only Malik came out.

Two weeks later Malik came out, covered in blood, babbling about tea and a rabbit, wearing a dress that wasn’t his. Red running down the indies of his legs and blue marks on his thighs were fingers had been. His hand went without thought to his left arm, touched the scars that followed the line of bone. His arm had been flayed open when they found him, and he couldn’t say how or why. It had been open for a long while, the blood oozing from it had gone black and brackish, the skin around it tattered at the edges. The doctors told his parents they had done their best, but he would forever only have one arm. His mother had said it was his own fault. 

If he had stayed out of the Old City as he was suppose to, this never would have happened. There was a reason why they lived in the New City, the ring of shiny new buildings that kept the Old City at bay. The Old City wasn’t for people like them. It was for the filth they threw away. All children had been warned about the dangers of the Old City. Malik didn’t belong there. The hospital were Malik had lived the last ten years was in the Old City, so his mother was wrong. 

Malik did belong here. 

Sometimes his parents came to visit, doing their duty; their noses wrinkled like he was something that smelled bad, even though the attendants always dragged him out and gave him a bath first. He hated the baths. They were icy cold and rough with scrubbing, and he was never permitted to clean himself. If he struggled or screamed out they would hit him with the bath brush or pinch hard enough to leave a mark, alwasy somewhere that couldn’t be seen, the side of his ribs or the soft part of his belly, with a promise of “more where that came from” unless he behaved. His parents didn’t visit so much anymore. Malik couldn’t remember the last time, but he knew it had been a long time. The days all ran together in his room, no books to read, no things to do. 

Altair said he could exercise so he would be fit when he got out, but somewhere in his heart Malik knew he would never get out. He was a broken thing, and the New City did not like broken things. They liked the new and whole. Malik hardly recalled when he was new and whole. The boy seemed like someone else he’d known once, long ago and far away.

“Malik?” a voice through the mouse hole. Many years before, a mouse had gotten into the wall and chewed the batting between his cell and Altair’s. Malik didn’t what had happened to the mouse. Probably got caught in a trap in the kitchens, or went out on the riverside and drowned. But the mouse had him to Altair, a rough voice coming through the wall. He had thought he’d gone round the bend at first, hearing voices coming from nowhere. 

_ “Hey, you.” the voice had said. He’d looked around wildly, afraid, and scuttled into a corner on the far side of the window, opposite the door, “Hey, you! Down here.” the voice had said. Malik had covered one ear and dug the other into his shoulder. Everyone knew hearing voices was a sign of madness, and he’d promised himself that he would not be mad no matter what they said, no matter how he felt.  _

_ After several moments of happy silence he had released his ears and looked around the room in relief. A great sigh exhaled from the walls, “The mouse hole, look through it.” Malik stared in alarm at the small opening in the corner opposite. Somehow a talking mouse was worse voices in his head. If mice were talking, then there were men with blue-green eyes and long furry ears. And while he didn’t remember his face, he did remember he’d been afraid. He stared at the mouse hole like something horrible might suddenly emerge from it, like the Rabbit might unfold himself from that space and finish whatever he had started. _

_ Another sigh, this one shorter and much more impatient, “You’re not hearing bloody voices and a mouse is not speaking to you. I’m in the room next to yours and I can see you through the hole. You’re not crazy and there’s no magic, so will you please come here and speak with me before I go madder than I already have?” _

_ “If you’re not in my head, and you’re not magic, then how do you know what I’m thinking?” Malik asked, his voice suspicious. He was beginning to wonder whether this wasn’t some trick of the doctors, some way to draw him into a trap. The attendants gave him powder with his breakfast and dinner to “keep him calm,” they said. But he knew that those powders still allowed him some freedom to be Malik, to think and dream and try to remember that lost bits of his life. When they took him out of his room for a bath or a visit, he sometimes saw other patients, people standing still with dead eyes and drool on their chins, people who were alive and didn’t know it. Those people were “difficult to deal with.”  _

_ They got injections instead of powders. Malik didn’t want injections, so he wasn’t going to say or do anything that would alarm the doctors. Doctors who might be trying to trick him with voices in the wall.  _

_ “I know what you’re thinking, because that’s what I’d be thinking if I were you,” the voice said, “we’re in the loony bin, aren’t we? Now, come over and have a look through the hole and you’ll see.” He stood cautiously, still unsure it was not a trick, whether of his mind or the doctors. He crossed under the window and crouched by the mouse hole, “All I can see are your knees,” the voice complained, “come all the way down, won’t you?” Malik lowered to his stomach, keeping his head well away from the opening. He had a vague fear that a needle might flash through the hole and plunge into his eye. Once his cheek was on the ground he could see through the small, tight opening. On the side side was a golden eye and a part of a nose.  _

_ There was bulge just where the rest of the nose disappeared from view, like it might have been broken once. It didn’t look like any doctor he knew, but Malik wasn’t taking any chances.  _

_ “Let me see your whole face.” he said.  _

_ “Good,” the gold eye said, “you’re thinking. That’s good. Not just a pretty face then.”  _

_ Malik shifted to try and cover his missing arm; then he remembered he was lying on that side of his body and the golden eye couldn’t see it anyway. Let the voice think he was pretty if the voice wanted. It would be nice to be pretty to someone even with his black hair all snarled and nothing to wear but a woolen shift. He heard the  _ swish-swish _ of wool on batting as the golden eye moved away from the hole and became two golden eyes, a nice nose that might have been broken once.  _

_ “All right, then?” the voice asked, “I’m Altair. But they call me Assassin here.”  _

_ And that was how they met. Nobody ever came to see Altair.  _

_ “Why are you here?” Malik asked one day, when they had become friends, or something close to it since they had never seen each other fully.  _

_ “I killed a lot of people.” Altair said, “That’s how I got my name. Assassin.”  _

_ He was surprisingly undisturbed by the knowledge that his new friend was a murderer. It seemed unrelated to who he was now, the rough voice and golden eyes through the hole “What was your full name before?” _

_ “Don’t remember,” he said, “I don’t remember anything before, really. They found me with a bloody knife in my hand and fifteen people dead all around me all slashed to pieces. I tried to do the same to the police when they came for me, so I must have killed those people.”  _

_ “Why did you do it?”  _

_ “Don’t remember,” he answered, voice hard and cold, “it’s like there’s this...haze over my eyes, grey smoke filling up everything up. I remember the weight of the knives in my hands, and the hot blood on my face, in my mouth. I remember the sound of the blade in soft flesh.”  _

_ “I remember that too.” Malik said, even though he didn’t know why he had said that. For a moment it had been true. He could hear the sound of a knife piercing skin, that sliding slicing noise, and someone screaming.  _

_ “Did you kill a lot of people too?” Altair asked.  _

_ “I don’t know. I might have.” _

_ “It’s all right...if you did. I would understand.”  _

_ Malik snapped at him, “I don’t really know. I remember before and I remember after, but that fortnight is gone, save for a few flashes.”  _

_ “The man with the long ears.”  _

_ “Yes,” Malik said. The man who hunted him, faceless, through his nightmares.  _

_ Altair spoke, “When we get out we’ll find him, and then you’ll know what happened to you.”  _

That had been eight years before and they were still here. In rooms side by side in a hospital that had no intention of ever letting them go. 

“Malik?” Altair said again, “I can’t sleep.” 

Malik blinked away the memory, brought on by the moon and the sound of Altair’s voice. 

“I can’t sleep either, Altair.” he said, crawling along the floor to the mouse hole. It was much darker down here. There was no light in their rooms save that silver moon through the bars, and the occasional passage of a lamp by the attendant walking the halls. He couldn’t see the color of his eyes, only the wet gleam of them. 

“Juno’s awake, Malik.” Altair said. It was then that he noticed that Altair's voice was thin and needy. Altair was hardly ever afraid. 


	2. Tom, the pipers son.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long conversation and a song.

“Juno’s awake, Malik.” Altair said. It was then that he noticed that Altair's voice was thin and needy. Altair was hardly ever afraid. Mostly he seemed strong, almost relentlessly so. All day long he heard him in his room, grunting with effort as he went through his exercises. When the attendants came to take Altair to his bath, there was always a lot of noise, punching, kicking, and yelling.

More than once Malik heard the crunch of bone, the angry curse of an attendant. Malik had asked him once why he didn’t get injections like the other trouble makers and crazy people here. He’d grinned, his golden eyes crinkling at the corners, and said that the injections had him wild, wilder than before, so after that they left him alone. He didn’t even get powders in his food. Altair was never scared, except when he talked about Juno.

“There’s no one named Juno, Altair.” Malik said, his voice low and soothing, He had heard tales of the monster named Juno before from Altair. Not often, but as of late it seemed that she haunted his mind. She haunted and hunted him with mindless hunger.

“I know you don’t believe in her, Malik, but she’s here. They keep her downstairs, in the basement. And when she’s awake I can feel her. I can see her. I can hear her, Malik.”

There was a pleading note under the fear and Malik relented. After all, he believed in a man with rabbit ears and Altair had never questioned or doubted him.

“What can you feel?” He asked.

Altair answered him, voice waspish but afraid, “I feel the night crawling up all around, blotting out the moon. I feel blood running down the walls, rivers of it in the streets below. And I feel her teeth closing around me. That’s what she’ll do, Malik, if she’s ever set free. She’s been imprisoned here a long time, longer than me or you.”

Malik wondered aloud, “How could anyone trap such a beast? And why would in the first place?” Altair shifted restlessly on the floor. Malik could hear him moving around.

“I don’t know for sure,” he said, voice soft and quiet now, so much so that Malik had to strain to hear him, “I think a Mage must have done it.”

“A Mage?” He asked. This was more far-fetched than anything Altair had said before, “All the Mages are gone. They were driven out or killed centuries ago, during the Purge. This place is not that old. How could a Mage have captured Juno and imprisoned her here?”

“Only a Mage would have the skill,” Altair insisted, “no ordinary man would survive the encounter.” Malik was willing to indulge his fantasy of a monster in the basement, but he couldn’t countenance this myth about a Mage. It didn’t seem wise to argue though. Altair took no powder or injections and sometimes he could get agitated. If he got agitated he might howl for hours, or beat his hands against the wall until they were bloody despite the padding in the rooms. So Malik said nothing, only listened to his shallow breath, and the cries of the other inmates echoing through the building. “I wish I could hold your hand.”

“What? Speak louder, novice.”

“I wish I could hold your hand. I’ve never seen you altogether, you know? Just bits through the hole. I try to put all the bits together in my head so I can see all of you, but it doesn’t look quite right.”

“In my head you are nothing but golden eyes and a scarred lip.” Malik said.

Altair laughed softly, but there was no mirth in it, “Like the Rabbit, just eyes and fur. Only I’m eyes and a scar. What would have happened if we met on the street, Malik? Would we have said hello?”

He hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but neither did he want to lie. His parents lied. They said things like, “You’re looking well,” and “We’re sure you’ll be home soon”—things Malik knew where not true.

“I don’t know if we could have seen each other to say hello. I lived in the New City, and I think...you seem like you’re from the Old City.”

“Well, la-di-da,” Altair said with a snappish tone in his voice, “Pretty boy wouldn’t soil his dinty hem in the Old City. Except you did. You got good and soiled. And now you’re here—just like me!” His words were like knotted fist to his gut, and all the breath seemed to leave him for a moment. But they were true words and he couldn’t pretended otherwise. The truth was all he had left. The truth and Altair were all he had left.

“Yes. We are both here.” He said. There was a long silence between them. Malik waited in the darkness, the moonlight playing games along the floor. Altair seemed to be walking the knife's edge tonight, and he would not be the one to knock him off.

“I’m sorry, Malik.” Altair said softly, his voice colored darkly with sorrow.

“Don’t—” Malik started but Altair cut him off.

“I shouldn’t say such things. You’re my only light, Malik. Without you I would have succumbed to this place long ago. But Juno is awake, and she makes me think of things I shouldn’t.”

“The sound of a blade in flesh.” He said, echoing the memory of his words.

“And warm blood on my hands.” Altair said, “I feel most like myself when I think these thoughts. As if that is who I really am.”

Malik scoffed, “At you have some idea, novice. I never had the chance to find out. I lost my way before I could.”

Malik heard him shifting again on the floor, and then he said, “I feel like there are bugs in my brain and on my skin. Sing me a song.”

Malik let out a laugh at this and quickly covered his mouth as an attendant walked by. Malik shook his head, “I don’t know any songs.”

Altair seemed to take this as a challenge, “Yes, you do. Something about a piper and his son. You sing or hum it all the time.”

“A piper and his son?” Malik said and then it came back to him. Kadar had loved the song and Malik had learned it so a much younger Kadar could relax and sleep. He clicked his tongue.

“Please?”

“My voice is horrid.”

“So is mine. Sing for me, Malik.”

Malik sighed but began to hum to remember the tune.

_Tom, he was a piper's son,_

_He learnt to play when he was young,_

_And all the tune that he could play_

_Was 'over the hills and far away';_

_Over the hills and a great way off,_

_The wind shall blow my top-knot off._

_Tom with his pipe made such a noise,_

_That he pleased both the girls and boys,_

_They all stopped to hear him play,_

_'Over the hills and far away'._

_Tom with his pipe did play with such skill_

_That those who heard him could never keep still;_

_As soon as he played they began for to dance,_

_Even the pigs on their hind legs would after him prance._

_As Dolly was milking her cow one day,_

_Tom took his pipe and began to play;_

_So Dolly and the cow danced 'The Cheshire Round',_

_Till the pail was broken and the milk ran on the ground._

_He met old Dame Trot with a basket of eggs,_

_He used his pipe and she used her legs;_

_She danced about till the eggs were all broke,_

_She began for to fret, but he laughed at the joke._

_Tom saw a cross fellow was beating an ass,_

_Heavy laden with pots, pans, dishes, and glass;_

_He took out his pipe and he played them a tune,_

_And the poor donkey's load was lightened full soon._

As Malik trailed off, he could hear Altair and his even breathing. Sleeping. Malik sighed and pushed himself up to lean against the wall instead of sleeping on the floor. As he fell asleep it was like holding his hand.


	3. The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to go.

As Malik trailed off, he could hear Altair and his even breathing. Sleeping. Malik sighed and pushed himself up to lean against the wall instead of sleeping on the floor. As he fell asleep it was like holding his hand. Malik dreamed of blood. Blood of his hand and pouring from his eyes. The room had filled with it. Outside the door Altair stood hand in hand with something dark and hideous, a thing crafted of shadow with flashing silver teeth. 

“Don’t take him from me.” He said, or tried to say, but he couldn’t speak through the blood in his mouth, it was choking him. His eyes were covered by smoke then and he couldn’t see the monster or Altair anymore. Heat was eating at him and then there was nothing but fire. 

_ Fire. Fire. _

“Malik! Wake up! The hospital is on fire!” Malik opened his eyes. Altair’s golden eye was pressed against the mouse hole, wild with fear and anticipation, “At last! Stay low, stay away from the smoke and get near the door but don’t get in front of it.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know, novice.” He said even as the dream clung to him and left his mouth dry. His shift was sticking to his skin from sweat along with his face. The odor of smoke finally permeated his nose and his fuzzy head, and there was another smell too, like cooking meat. He didn’t want to think what that might be. Malik turned so he was flat on his back, and saw a thick blanket of smoke just a few inches from his face. The heat beneath made the floor agony to lie upon but there was no way to escape it. 

The sounds filtered in then. The crack of flame, of heavy objects crashing to the ground. Horrible screams. And close by the grunts and pounding of someone slamming their body into the wall. Altair was trying to break down the door in his room. The noise was terrible. Malike didn’t think it was possible. 

The walls might be soft, but the doors were iron. He would kill himself. He tried to call out to Altair but the fire killed his voice and he couldn’t hear him. There was a sound of something crunching and Altair didn’t cry out and there was no more noise. He called out for Altair again and two tears leaked from each eye. There was no point in getting up if Altair had killed himself. The smoke and noise told Malik that the fire was still under way. 

The attendants and the doctors would not bother to free the patients, especially when most families would be thrilled to be free of the burden of their mad relatives. So they would all burn. Malik found he was not as distressed about this as he ought to be. Perhaps it was the powder in last night's dinner or the smoke that filled his lungs in place of air.  He felt very calm. He could just lie here and wait until the fire came. His eyes closed again and he drifted away to a place he had been in real life. 

A silver lake tucked in a green valley, wildflowers dotting the shore. There was no smell of medicine there or harsh soap. There was no smoke and no pain, no blood. It was the place he always went, the place where his mind hid when the doctors asked questions he didn’t want to answer or when his parents sighed in disappointment. Something grabbed him around the shoulders and his eyes flew up in shock. It had been years since anyone touched her except to drag her to the bath. Altair’s face was close to his, twisted in anger and blood ran from a cut on the side of his head. 

“I told you to get near the door, you silly nit!” He said, dragging him up to sit and then flipped him down onto his stomach, “Follow me.” He began to crawl toward the door. The open door. He followed automatically, keeping Altair’s filthy bar heels in sight. He wanted to ask how he had gotten out, how he wasn’t dead from battering his body on the door. But he was moving with surprising quickness into the hall. 

He paused after a few moments so he could catch up to Altair. There was no one except the two of them and the frantic pounding of other patients still trapped in their rooms. It was then that he noticed that Altair’s right arm hung at an odd angle and he was only using his left to pull his body along. Just like Malik. 

“Altair, what happened?” He asked. He was out of breath from the short period of exertion. 

“It came out when I broke the door down.” Altair answered, “I’ll fix it later but right now we have to go. The floor is getting hotter and she’s almost out.” 

“Juno?” 

“Who else?” 

Malik tried to keep up with him even though his lungs were burning and his throat was all but stripped raw, “Altair, we’re going the wrong way! The stairs are behind us.” 

“The stairs on fire. I checked before I got you. We’re going out this way.” 

“Novice, we’re on third floor!” Malik snapped. 

“As much as I hate water we’ll go out the back near the river. Just keep up, Malik.” 

There was something about the river that was sending off red flags and alarms in his head but he couldn’t remember what it was. They passed a door near a patient who was repeatedly throwing himself against the iron door and screaming. The cloud of smoke above them blocked the small viewing window so Malik knew that the man inside couldn’t see them escaping. He still felt a little guilty about leaving all these people to die though.  He had to say something. 

“What about the others? Shouldn’t we let them out before we go?” 

“No time. And they would only be millstones in any case. They have no sense and we’d have to lead them like sheep and then what? Would we take them with us? No, we need to leave before Juno is free.” 

It was a cold thing to say but true. No about Juno but the other part. The others would slow them down and endanger their own lives. Altair reached the end of the hallway before Malik did. He came to his knees and he noticed that Altair held a small ring of keys in his left hand. 

“Where did you get those?” Malik asked. 

Altair gave him a flirty smirk, “From the attendant at the top of the stairs. How do you think I opened your door?” He began to try each key on the locked door in front of them. Malik frowned at Altair and got to his own knees next to him. 

“There was nobody in the corridor when we came out, novice.” 

“I took his keys and threw him down the stairs. That’s how I knew the stairs were on fire.” Altair said with an air of boredom. The seventh key finally left them in. They crawled in and shut the door behind them. A cloud of smoke followed them in before that though and it dissipated quickly. The far window was open. 

The heavy and toxic air of The City poured into the room. It had still been years since Malik had smelled anything but the asylum —unwashed bodies, chloroform, vomit and blood along with the soap that was harsh on his skin. By contrast the soot and smoke and refuse outside seemed to smell better and as clean as a country breeze. Suddenly a head appeared in the window from outside. It was one of the attendants with only half a nose. His eyes widened when he saw Altair and Malik in the room, and he started to climb back inside. Before the man could get even one leg over the sill, Altair was on him. 

He kicked the man in the side so hard that Malik heard ribs snap. Altair pushed the man out the window and he let out a small cry before the crunch of bone ended it. He turned to Malik and said softly, “I bit his nose off. He was coming back to make sure we wouldn’t get out. Don’t you see? They don’t want us to leave!” 


	4. Juno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's out.

He kicked the man in the side so hard that Malik heard ribs snap. Altair pushed the man out the window and he let out a small cry before the crunch of bone ended it. He turned to Malik and said softly, “I bit his nose off. He was coming back to make sure we wouldn’t get out. Don’t you see? They don’t want us to leave!” 

Malik nodded. He did see. The smoke must have gone up in his brain because everything seemed soft at the edges. “There’s a ledge out here,” Altair said. He went to the wall next to the window, grabbed his right wrist with his left hand and pushed his hanging arm back in. He flexed his fingers as if to ensure they were still functional. Altair made not a single sound during this whole process. He held his hand out to Malik so he could join him by the window. 

He held tight to Altair as they climbed out of the open window and out into the night, the dirt of the ledge coating and digging into their bare feet. Malik felt warm all over, the rough hand of Altair holding onto his was a soothing balm for his soul. When one was in an asylum, no one ever touched you in kindness and Malik knew the shock was great for him as it was for Altair. Below them, far below them, too far for comfort, was the river; grey and putrid and foul smelling. Now that he saw the river again he remembered what he had forgotten. Altair and him were pressed tightly to the hot bricks of the building, the foul wind of the river rushing up to meet them. Their toes were curled over the lip of the ledge, their hands digging to the small nicks and hand holds of the brick. 

One wrong move and it would be all over. 

“We’re out.” Altair said in awe. 

“Yes, we’re out.” Malik said as his stomach gave a roll of discomfort. Now that the smoke was not trying to kill him, his mind was once again sharp. This plan was much riskier than when Altair had first said it. The only way down was by falling into the river. A river where the sludge and toxic waste of the New City was dumped. The dead as well. 

The river was not a good place to be and not a good place to try and swim. His father, at the hospital, had once shown him a woman who had gone into the river and had come out. She had no more skin and was dying because the water had infected her lungs. Maybe there was another way down that Altair knew about. Altair grabbed his hand and Malik turned to look at him, “We jump into the river and swim across to the opposite bank. We can disappear into the Old City after that. No one will look for us in there. They’ll think we’re dead!” 

Malik frowned at him, “We will be dead if we jump into that river, you novice! The river is toxic to humans!” 

“We can’t stay here,” Altair said, “if the fire doesn’t kill us then they’ll catch us and put us back in our cages. I can...I can’t go back, Malik. I can’t spend what’s left of my life as a chained dog beating against it cage. I would rather die by being eaten by Juno than go back.” 

Malik saw the truth of this, and felt it in his heart as well. He didn’t want to back inside the cage they had made for him. But the river was so far below, no, not a river. It was poison. What if their skin was eaten alive like the woman's had been? What if they swallowed the river water and died from the foul liquid that had gotten into them? Before Malik could try and find a different solution a window nearby exploded out and made them both flinch. 

“Are you sure about this, Altair?” Malik asked. Altair nodded his head, face set in grim determination. He held tightly to Malik and Malik held tightly to them. 

“Now we fly. Trust me. This is just...this is just a leap of faith, habibi.” 

Malik took a deep breath, the smell of foul water and smoke entering his lungs, eyes closed. He looked at Altair, nodded and said, “I trust you, novice.” he didn’t know why he always seemed to trust Altair. They jumped and the wind raced them to the water below. Altair pulled him close, holding him tightly in a fierce embrace. 

“Don’t let go!” Altair yelled over the noise of the wind. The river slammed so hardly into them that Altair almost lost his grip on Malik. Malik held tightly to Altair and the river twisted and turned them as they about, the surface letting them breath. For a moment. Then they began to sink as Altair didn’t kick his feet. Malik did. 

“Swim!” Malik gasped, “Kick your feet!” 

“I can’t swim!” Altair said as he spat out the water. Malik scowled and kicked Altair in the shin. 

Malik swallowed a giant gulp of water and coughed out, “Kick your feet and point your arm in the direction you want to go!” 

“That makes no sense! I might lose you to the water!” 

They went under and Malik kicked his feet harshly to push them back to the surface. Altair began to kick his feet as well. They gasped and took deep breaths. 

“Just do it!” Malik snapped. Altair did, and Malik helped by kicking his feet as well. As they finally came to the shore, they both let each other go, taking huge gasping breaths as they lay prone on their backs. The river lapped at their wet clothing, which was heavy on their bodies. Malik pushed himself up, the gravel and rocks biting into his palm. He looked across the river and then to his right. 

Far from them, for the river had taken them, the asylum was on fire. The distance and the sound of the fire was drowning out the sounds of the inmates as they died into the metal rooms. Malik had never given much thought to the places around the hospital before. On one side was a long, low building crouched against the bank of the river like a fat turtle. The edifice on the opposite side was huge, much bigger than the hospital, and the smoke belching from its chimneys seemed as dank and grey as the river they had been in. Altair got to his feet and he helped Malik to his feet. The muck and rocks and dirt seemed to sink between his toes. 

Behind them the sky was turning lighter and lighter, the sun trying to claw its way up over the horizon. A small knot of people was gathering a little ways down the bank on a jetty, pointing and exclaiming over the collapsing asylum. “Do you see them, Altair?” Malik as, as the knot was growing into a large crowd. 

Altair grabbed Malik’s hand and began to walk, “I see them. Over here.” He guided Malik toward a place where the shadows lay thick, away from the flickering exposure of the gas lamps set at intervals to alleviate the fog from the river and the factories. Everywhere was the stench of the water, the reek of smoke and flame, the chemical burn of factory exhaust. Underneath it all was the smell of the mornings cooking from the warren of flats just before them. Altair looked back and then stopped. He stared, transfixed, at the fiery structures across the water. 

He stood so still that Malik began to worry and he squeezed the hand of his only friend. “Altair?” he asked. Altair was covered in the same wet coat of filth as Malik and Altair was no longer holding his hand as tightly. His golden eyes glowed like the coals of hell, and when he turned those eyes to look at Malik he felt, for the first time, a little afraid of Altair. This was not Altair, his constant companion through the mouse hole. Nor was this the man who had methodically rescued him from the building that was burning down across the river from them. 

This was Assassin, the murderer with the knives who had been found covered in blood and surrounded by bodies.  _ But he would never hurt you,  _ Malik told himself,  _ he’s still Altair somewhere in there. He just lost himself for a moment.  _ Malik let go of Altair's’ hand and gripped him tightly by his shoulder. Altair grabbed Malik by his face, hands shaking, eyes wild with fear as the killer went back to wherever it was Altair kept him in his head. 

“She’s out! She’s out, she’sout!  _ SHE’SOUTSHE’SOUT!”  _ Altair whispered harshly, “Now the world will break and burn and bleed and it’s all my fault.” 

“Juno?” Malik asked. 

Altair closed his eyes tightly and leant his head against Malik’s, “Her mouth will open wide and we will all fall in, we’ll fall in and be devoured. We must get away, away before she finds me. She knows I can hear her. She knows that I know what evil she will do.” Suddenly there was a tremendous noise from the asylum, a sound like the very heart of the building crashing in on itself. Malik and Altair both turned to watch as the whole building fell and crashed down in a blaze of fire. The fire shot impossibly upward into the sky, well past the point where there was anything to burn.

It filled the horizon, the wings of a monster outstretched. Behind the flame was a darkness, a gigantic shadow that spread, as if something that was trapped was now free, reaching its arms toward the sun. It seemed so impossibly large in comparison to the asylum. “Is that...is that her? Is that Juno?” Malik asked. He never believed in Juno, not really.

And perhaps there was no shadow at all. Malik was exhausted, and had spent some time breathing smoke and he had swallowed a whole mouthful of the toxic water. His brain might tell him there was a shadow when in fact there was none. That was the trouble with not being right in the head. You couldn’t always tell if your eyes were telling the truth. Altair didn’t even answer him, he just grabbed Malik tightly about the wrist and dragged up the muddy river bank and onto the cold stone roads. Their bare feet slapping on the ground below then. They ducked and turned and almost slammed into narrow walls as they tried to squeeze into alleyways. 

The Old City seemed to have no beginning and no end, a circling maze of stairways and narrow alleys connecting buildings that had been patched and rebuilt on top of crumbling ruins for centuries. There was nothing gleaming and new here, not even the children, who seemed to be birthed with haunted eyes. They avoided the night watch men as well. As they ran, never stopping, Malik understood the need. Aside from the question of Juno, never mind if the asylum was naught but ash and cinder, they had many problems now that they were free. If the Watchers caught them, they would be taken back, back to another asylum. Altair would not go quietly, Malik knew. 

Malik would not go at all. But for now, free as they were, they had to find a place to hide from Juno and the Watchers.


	5. Slavers and smart feet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altair didn't remember who he used to be, but then again Malik didn't either.

Malik would not go at all. But for now, free as they were, they had to find a place to hide from Juno and the Watchers. So they dipped and darted between the girls with their customers pressed up against the alley walls, or old men gathered in clusters around bins of burning trash or playing games of dice with money passing between them. Altair led them deeper into the Old City, to a place where the rising sun was blocked by the closeness of the buildings and the air was blanketed in fog from the factories. Mist rose from the cobblestones, hiding approaching figures until they were nearly upon you. Which was how the men surrounded them. Altair paused for a moment, seeing Malik out of breath and suffering. 

He did not pat or comfort Malik, but waited. In that moment that they were still, an enormous ogre loomed out of the darkness and swung a club at Altair. Malik opened his mouth to tell him to duck, to fight, to run, to do something. But a hand covered in soot and rough as sandpaper slapped over his mouth and the other hand grabbed his arm and jerked it back behind him so hard that the bone within rang out in alarmed pain. Any harder and it would pop out of its socket. He kicked out, trying to get this brute to let go of him so he could help Altair. But between one blink and the next Altair and the man who had taken a swing at him with a club had been eaten by the fog. 

The man began to drag Malik away, and Malik could feel how weak he was from years of being in a cage. Malik would NOT go back to being in a cage. The man slammed his into a wall and jerked his hospital gown up and grabbed him tightly. He felt a shiver go through him. He jerked his hand, trying to slap at the man or dig his nails deep into the flesh of the hand covering his mouth, and kicked his feet and threw his body. The hand over his mouth slipped down just enough. He snapped his teeth down hard, and blood filled his mouth, drowning out the river water he had drank. 

It tasted like copper. It tasted far too familiar. He remembered a man over him in the flickering light, pushing between his legs and it hurt, he screamed because it hurt and he kept at it until Malik bled. Malik remembered that he had bled for a long time. Kadar had been there too. He had been bleeding too. The man almost sent his skull threw the bricks he had been slammed into. 

The blow made him limp and dazed for a moment, and something sticky and wet dripped down into his eyes. Blood. He remembers that he had been so coated in blood that it was hard to see. But that blood hadn’t been his own. It had been another's. He fell to the rough stone below, trying not the fall to his side and a swift kick caught him in the gut. This sent him to the ground, his temple meeting the stone. 

The foot came again. And again. Malik was dazed but on the next swing he rolled away as best he could and the foot hit the wall. Malik stumbled to his feet, or at least tried. His hand caught on something rough. A brick, he saw as he got to his feet and the man grabbed him and he swung that brick with all his might and the skull met brick. The brick won. 

The man stumbled back and then Altair was there. As Malik fell into the wall, holding the bloody brick, he watched as Altair beat his attacker with his bruised and bloody fists, the man's face caving in to itself with each swing. When Altair let the man go he fell face first into the ground and did not move. He died with one last breath and his body let go of all he had. The smell was vile. Altair was suddenly there, wiping away the blood and throwing the brick away. He held tightly to Malik as he made him walk once more. 

He shook Malik a little to get him to listen. Something about a bag of gold and silver that one of the men had. Malik nodded stupidly, “Slavers.” he slurred. 

Altair gave a snort, “How horrid for men to sell anyone with a pulse to make a living.” 

“I think I was sold, before.” 

Altair took them over a bridge, the water just as dirty and smelly as the river water they had swam out of, “To the man with the long ears?” 

“I don’t...there was another man before him. I think he had...no...he did have Kadar. Or did he?” Malik wondered as the world spinned around him. Altair held onto him. 

“Kadar? Your little brother?” 

Malik nodded his head, “Yes. Altair, you novice, we need to hide. To rest our bodies and minds before we make anymore plans. Tell me, does anything look familiar to you? Do you know where we are?” 

Altair stopped for a moment and looked around before answering, “It does look familiar to me though I have no memory of why. I have been leading us to a safe place, this I know.” 

“Novice.” 

“Your novice.” 

Malik spit out a large glob of blood into the water they walked near before asking, “This place is safe though?” 

Altair did not lie, not really, at least as far as Malik knew, “I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here and some places look the same. More like looking at an old photo you haven’t seen in a long time. You know you know it but you can’t explain why because the memory is too foggy. Other places look so vastly different and I can’t put my finger on why they do.” 

Malik chuckled as Altair stopped at a boarder up shop with broken glass to look around at the roads, five in total, as though remembering which road to take, “I don’t think your memory is a shit as you think it is, Altair. You remember things like the time of Magicians and the men sell rich, snobby boys like me. You know the City. You knew about Juno. You just forgot who you were, novice.” 

Altair smiled at him and balanced him as he wiped more of the blood from his face and some from the back of his head, flinging it onto the stone, “No. I remember who I am. I’ve forgotten who I used to be. But I think that’s for the best, I don’t think you would have liked who I used to be. I don’t think I liked who I used to be before either.” 

Malik didn’t remember who he used to be before the rabbit had him. He had seen the flashes and those flashes were not pleasant. Maybe it was for the best that he didn’t remember who he used to be. Kadar had been sweet though. Sweet and kind and a crybaby. He hadn’t wanted to go to the Old City. Kadar had always been smarter than Malik had given him credit for.

He shivered and Altair rubbed at his arm as they kept walking, “I can’t get warm.” Malik chuckled. 

“We’re almost there, habibi.” 

“So say your feet?” 

“So say my feet.” Altair chuckled and they moved a little quicker. Malik was starting to feel sick. As they came out of the maze of alleys they came onto a square. It was still early and thus few people were out and about and they paid them little mind as they went about their morning business. Women with their heads wrapped in scarves against the chill, carrying baskets of eggs and cabbage and fish wrapped in old newspaper. Men were leading donkeys that had been weighed down with wood and other building materials. 

Boys stole food when the seller wasn’t looking and girl so very young leaned in thin clothing against doorways, calling out to the men too old for them. As they made their way past, people looked away and gave them a wide berth. The Watchers were not called for, but people made it clear by their sneers and their looks at them that no help would be offered. 

“Such friendly people.” Malik muttered. 

Altair kept moving, “Malik, when we get there, an old woman will be there, I think. She’ll keep us safe. She knows me.” 

Malik wondered how this old woman knew Altair and why he was so sure she would help them. But Altair must not remember so it would be pointless to ask. They limped their way down and before Malik knew it he had thrown himself from Altair to be sick into a gutter. Altair rubbed his back. 

“Wonderful.” Malik hissed. 

“You haven’t had any powder today.” Altair said. 

“I know that.” 

“Then you now know why you are sick. You have had the powders fed to you for a long time, and now you don’t get it anymore. Your body is pushing it out.” 

“Wonderful.” Malik groaned. 


End file.
